...all Cynicism Masks A Failure To Cope.

You Put Up With Your Voice And Speak With It Because You Haven't Any Choice. But It's What You Say That Counts.

You Wish To Be Liked. I Wish Simply To Be. One Day You Will Know What That Means, Perhaps. And You Will Smile. Not Against Me. But With Me.

Another Reason I Think The Novel Will Survive Is That The Reader Has To Work In A Novel. In A Film, You Are Presented With Someone Else's Imagination Exactly Bodied Out. The Marvelous Thing About A Novel Is That Every Reader Will Imagine Even The Very Simplest Sentence Slightly Differently.

Time Is Not A Road - It Is A Room.

It Came To Me…that I Didn’t Want To Be Anywhere Else In The World At That Moment, That What I Was Feeling At That Moment Justified All I Had Been Through, Because All I Had Been Through Was My Being There. I Was Experiencing…a New Self-acceptance, A Sense That I Had To Be This Mind And This Body, Its Vices And Its Virtues, And That I Had No Other Chance Or Choice.